Babysitting
by CopperPrincess
Summary: Clint and Natasha's relationship from Phil's perspective (pre-movie). He is so not paid enough for this...
1. Chapter 1

"Agent Coulson?" Fury said. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Yes, sir," Agent Coulson replied, stepping into the director's office. He'd been on his way to the gym to check on his two charges, Hawkeye and the Black Widow, to make sure they didn't kill each other. They were still getting used to each other and testing the limits of the other.

"How is Agent Romanoff fitting in so far?" Fury asked, sitting behind his desk. He gestured for Coulson to take a seat as well, which he did before answering.

"She is adjusting fairly well, I think. The other agents fear and hate her, and I think maybe it will get to her eventually, but right now, I think she is doing well. I know she's healthier; the crap they called food that they were giving her at the Red Room was doing absolutely nothing for her."

"And Agent Barton? How does he feel about their little arrangement?" the director asked.

"Sir, if I may be so frank, it's hard to tell. I'm usually able to read him better than this, but I just can't for some reason. I would assume he's okay with it – he's the one who brought her in after all."

"Sir!" Agent Hill said, banging on the door.

"Enter," the director said, glancing up. Agent Hill hurried in, her eyes wide.

"Sir, I believe we have a situation in Gym 3, with Agents –"

"Barton and Romanoff," Coulson finished for her. "I'm on my way. Not to worry, Director. I've got it." He walked quickly from the office after receiving Fury's nod and made his way down to the gyms to make sure his charges hadn't seriously hurt each other. Or any other agents.

"Was that all, Agent Hill?" Fury asked when they were alone.

"Sir, do you really think having the Black Widow around is such a good idea?"

"If you have something you want to say, Agent, spit it out," the director replied. He didn't have time for dillydallying. He had mountains of paperwork to do. Something these agents didn't seem to appreciate at all…

"It's just that, I've heard the rumors and the talk in the mess hall, and she makes the other agents nervous. They think she's a ticking time bomb, that she'll turn on us."

"Do you believe that, Agent?"

"I don't know what to believe, sir. All I know is that she's dangerous, whether she uses that for us or for the Red Room or even some other group."

"Well then, it's best she use her skills for us, is it not?"

"Yes, sir," Agent Hill replied, fidgeting a little. The director made her nervous still, even though she'd been working with him directly for the last seven months.

"Then if you have nothing further to report, please leave and tell Agent Henderson I need his report yesterday." The director's tone held a final note of dismissal, which wasn't lost on Hill, who quickly left him to his paperwork.

* * *

"Clint!" Coulson yelled, swiping the gym door open with his ID card. "What the hell is going on in here?" The gym was trashed. Coulson hadn't thought that was even possible. His charges were in a mass of arms and legs in the middle of the room.

"Oh, hey, Phil," Clint said, then grunted. "That hurt!" he said over his shoulder, presumably to Natasha, who was underneath him and sort of around him and bent some way –

"Please don't make me get the duct tape and separate you two," Coulson. "Stand down, both of you. Now."

"Oh, not the duct tape!" Clint said dramatically. He had made his living in a circus for some years. He was theatrical by nature. "Natasha, he means business. If you would be so kind as to _stop_ trying to bite me, we will both survive this…"

It took them a few seconds to unravel from each other. When they finally were two distinct bodies again, Clint lying on his back breathing heavily, Natasha sitting facing Coulson, knees drawn up, eyes predatory and watching Coulson, he cleared his throat.

"What, exactly, is going on in here?" Coulson asked, folding his arms across his chest. Hawkeye groaned and pulled his torso up to mimic Natasha's posture, a playful grin on his face.

"Wrestling. What's it look like?" he replied. Coulson frowned at him sternly.

"We weren't really going to hurt each other," Natasha supplied, a trace of a Russian accent slipping into her voice. Clint had started noticing it did that when she was extremely tired. He smiled wider, thinking he had been the one to wear her out to the point she started speaking in an accent.

"And what about the gym, hm?" Coulson said. He gestured to the general destruction around them. "Agent Hill interrupted my private conversation with Director Fury to report a problem in here. Care to explain that?"

"It is not my fault she doesn't know what _real_ fighting looks like," Natasha said archly. Clint suspected she and Agent Hill had some sort of feud going on, but he had no idea why.

"This isn't for real! This is practice! As in, you establish a safe word and _don't_ try to kill each other!" Coulson fumed.

"We weren't trying to kill each other," Clint argued. "We were getting used to each other's fighting styles. As memory serves, that's what you _told_ us to do!"

"Clint, just don't," Coulson said. What had he done to deserve this? He rubbed his hands over his face. "Please, go back to your quarters and shower. We'll discuss conduct protocols after."

"Conduct protocols?" Natasha asked, frowning. She glanced at Clint.

"I'll explain on the way. Come on. I think we're in trouble," Clint said. He got up and pulled Natasha to her feet as well. The two agents edged around Coulson, who stood just inside the door, and returned to their quarters, which were next door to each other.

"Damn right you're in trouble…" Coulson mumbled. He heard Clint's laugh disappear down the corridor. Coulson turned and cast the destroyed gym a pitying look. "My apologies to the repair crew…"

* * *

"Agent Coulson!" Coulson looked up from the papers on his desk.

"Yes? Come in."

"Agent," another suited agent said, breathing heavily from running to the office. "I think you better come with me."

"What is it?" Coulson asked, immediately all business as he jumped up to run back with the other agent. His name might have been Aarons.

"Agent Barton is missing and Agent Romanoff is going on a rampage, tearing the place apart looking for him – "

"Say no more. Where is she?"

"When I left to get you, she was tearing the mess hall apart."

"Thanks. I'll handle it from here," Agent Coulson said. He turned down the hallway that led to the mess hall. Sure enough, as he got closer, the sounds of chaos got louder. When he burst in the double doors, the scene before him looked right out of an exaggerated food fight scene of a movie.

"Romanoff!" he yelled. He caught a flash of red hair between two other agents who were throwing spaghetti at each other. He ran over to her, pushing his way through the crowd and narrowly managing to dodge a pudding cup and bowl of carrots.

"Phil! Where is he?" Natasha asked. Her eyes were wild with panic, yet also cold and calculating, thinking, the wheels in her head turning frantically. Phil was surprised he couldn't see steam coming out of her ears.

"Natasha, calm down. Come with me," Coulson said. He grabbed her arm so as not to lose her in the crowd and escorted her into the hallway, where it was much quieter and there was no danger of bodily harm by projectile food.

"I cannot find him anywhere," Natasha said, her accent thick. That was what tipped Coulson off that she was genuinely scared and worried. That also made her ten times more dangerous than she usually was.

"He's around somewhere. Fury wouldn't send him on a mission without letting me know no matter what," he said, trying to reassure her. Her fear brought out his protective side. He wanted to make it go away so that she was once again the Black Widow, fearless, deadly, and sexy as sin.

"I have checked his room, the gyms, the mess hall, and I cannot find him anywhere." Coulson looked at his watch and noticed the date.

"Come on, I think I might know where he is," Coulson said. It was September 29th, the anniversary of the fight that killed Hawkeye's brother. The anniversary of Hawkeye killing his brother.

Coulson brought them to a door marked "Roof Access" and pushed it open. There, on the edge of the roof, sat Clint Barton. He made a rather sad and lonely silhouette, Coulson thought.

"Clint!" Natasha said and ran to him.

Clint turned and barely had time to scramble away from the edge and catch Natasha without sending both of them off the roof. Natasha held him tight around the waist and buried her face in his chest. Clint, after a confused moment, put his arms around her as well and gave Phil a confused frown.

"Why don't we all go into my office and talk, shall we?" Coulson said. After a moment, Natasha released Clint from her death grip and stepped back.

On their way back to Coulson's office, they ran into Director Fury.

"Agent Coulson," the director said, glaring at the handler. "I expect you in my office at 1600 hours. You too, Agent Romanoff." He swept away toward the cafeteria without waiting for a reply.

"Come on," Coulson said, resuming their hasty walk to his office. They managed to avoid other stops on their way and he closed the door behind the three of them. He locked the door, breathed deeply for a moment, then went to sit in his desk chair.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Clint asked, taking a seat across from him.

"It would seem you forgot to mention something quite important to your _partner_ here," Coulson said calmly, fixing Clint with a steady, significant stare.

"I couldn't find you," Natasha said simply, as if those four little words explained the entire mess.

"First off, Natasha, if you can't find Clint and he's not on a mission, you come find me," Coulson said. "Secondly, Clint, you two are partners now. You have to communicate. I don't mean a passing 'Hey, I'm going to the gym, wanna join me?' I mean the personal stuff. In order for the two of you to become a team, you have to know where the other is coming from."

"Sorry, Phil, I wasn't even thinking. You know what day it is," Clint said, understanding beginning to dawn on him.

"Yes, well, as the person in charge of you both, I now have to explain this thing to Director Fury. I would appreciate it if, in future, you didn't get yourselves, and me, in so much trouble. Now, Natasha, you come with me. Clint, wait for us in your quarters. No, you may not leave them. You're grounded."

It took Coulson a good deal of nerve and patience, but he was able to explain the situation to Director Fury. For his part, Fury understood, and let them off the hook – this time. The next time something like this happened, someone was going to get latrine duty and run laps til they barfed. Coulson paled, but agreed. There was nothing else for it. Natasha got a firm talking-to and was released.

"Now, go talk to Clint. You're both grounded until I'm not mad at you anymore. Got it?"

"I'll let Clint know," Natasha replied, chastised, and made a hasty retreat. Now that Clint was back and she could think and see clearly, she was embarrassed by her earlier behavior. She had never, ever, not once in her life, lost her cool so thoroughly. She and Clint definitely had things they needed to talk over together…

* * *

A month after "the Incident," as Coulson liked to refer to it, he was happy to report that Clint and Natasha were getting along much better. They still fought like cats and dogs, but it was part of their relationship – the witty banter, the subtle stabs at each other's abilities, the one-upping.

In fact, they were getting along so well, Coulson decided to take the night off. After all, it was just one night. Clint and Natasha had just returned from a somewhat complicated mission and were tired, he was mostly caught up on his paperwork, and he hadn't had a night off in at least three months. He was going to treat himself, dammit.

"Now, children. You two are old enough that I shouldn't have to babysit you every minute of the day. Please don't prove me wrong," Coulson said. He had caught them having an early dinner in the cafeteria together.

"Are you leaving us?" Clint asked, making dramatic puppy dog eyes.

"I'm taking the night off for personal time," Coulson said. "You may not come with me and you may not spy on me."

"Ooh, are you going out somewhere?" Clint asked, sudden interest sparking in his gray eyes.

"It's none of your business," Coulson said, realizing he'd given away too much information. Frankly, any information was too much information when it came to these two.

"It's a woman," Natasha said casually. "Shut up, Clint. Phil's allowed to go out on dates." She elbowed Clint to get him to stop laughing.

"I don't even want to know how you know," Coulson said, shaking his head wearily. "Just, please, behave yourselves? For me?"

"Of course! We won't be any trouble, will we, Nat?"

"No, of course not," Natasha said, her features unreadable.

"I'll see you in the morning, then. Good night," Coulson said.

"Good night, Phil," Clint called after him. Somehow, he added a suggestive lilt to his voice. Coulson vaguely heard Natasha slap him upside the head and his muttered "Ow!" but kept walking. He prayed for a miracle.

Coulson was having a lovely time on his date. The woman's name was Karen. They had gone to dinner at a steakhouse on the river and were now at a concert by the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. Karen played cello in an orchestra in New Jersey.

During the intermission, Coulson checked his phone for messages. There were six, the most recent from just five minutes ago. This was not good. He only had to listen to three of them to know that Clint and Natasha had gotten into some trouble or other. The messages had gotten progressively more tense and panicked as he listened.

"Is something wrong?" Karen asked when he found her again in the lobby.

"I'm afraid I have to go back to the office," Coulson said. Looking into Karen's concerned brown eyes, he thought he could really hate his job sometimes.

"Can't someone else handle whatever it is?"

"I'm afraid not. It's a… a private project I'm working on. They need me to handle something that's come up."

Karen sighed. "I was having a really great time," she said.

"I was, too," Coulson replied. "Hey, it may have been cut short this time, but I promise I'll make it up to you next time."

"Next time?" Karen asked.

"I'd like to have a next time," Coulson said, mentally slapping himself for being so presumptuous and trying to do damage control.

Karen smiled. "I'd like that."

"I'm glad you understand," Coulson said, smiling at her and holding her hand.

"I know what it means to be dedicated to your work," she said. "I understand. Go. We'll go out another night."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Coulson promised. Before he lost his nerve, he kissed her cheek and left to give his agents hell.

He drove like crazy through the New York traffic to get back to the SHIELD base, then strode purposefully to the shooting range. That was as much as he'd been able to glean from the messages, was Clint, Natasha, and the shooting range. He walked faster.

"What the hell – " he said, coming upon the scene on the range. There were bullet casings everywhere, all of the targets had clusters of bullet holes or an arrow sticking out of them, and Clint and Natasha were standing about a hundred feet apart, aiming projectile weapons at each other.

"Oh, hey, Phil," Clint said, not taking his eyes off of Natasha. "How'd the date go?"

"It was going great til I received six messages saying to get down here ASAP! Care to tell me why you have the whole base freaking bad enough that I had to leave my date at the theater?"

"I hope you got her number before that, because she definitely will not appreciate being abandoned," Clint said lightly, teasingly. Coulson was about ready to explode in anger.

"Natasha. You're reasonable. Tell me what is going on here, exactly."

"We couldn't sleep, so we came in here to work off some steam from the mission," she said calmly, keeping her Glock trained on Clint.

"And why is the base worried about this?"

"The targets weren't doing it, so we started shooting at each other," Clint explained. "I have no idea why the base is flipping out, though."

Coulson closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his right hand. He _would_ be assigned to handle two agents with awesome chemistry who tried to kill each other every other day. It was just his luck.

"I'm going to count to three. On three, I want each of you to lower the weapons. Got it?" He waited for each of them to nod. "I mean it now. One. Two. Three. Weapons down."

Clint and Natasha lowered their weapons as he had said. He moved forward so that he was standing directly between them. He gestured them closer to him. When they were within reach, he took the Glock and the bow and arrow from them at the same time, so neither would feel slighted.

"Good. Now, go to your rooms. I'm writing an incident report and will do damage control, but expect to run a whole lot of laps tomorrow. Dismissed."

Clint and Natasha left the range. Coulson counted to ten, then did it again when he didn't feel any better. He put the weapons in the agents' respective lockers and went to get started on the incident report. He just couldn't catch a break with these two…

* * *

"Hey, Phil? Can I talk to you?" Clint asked, knocking on the door that Phil had left ajar.

"Sure, have a seat," Coulson gestured to the chairs across from him. Clint closed the door securely behind him and sat down. He was glad that Phil had forgiven him and Natasha for the shooting range incident. He'd purposely waited a few weeks to give him time to cool down and forgive them, which might have helped.

"What did you want to talk about?" Phil asked, leaning back in his desk chair. He studied his agent. He didn't think he'd ever seen Hawkeye nervous before.

"I, um," Clint started, then stopped, seeming to search for words. "I wanted to ask about SHIELD's, um, policy, regarding, uh, Agent Romanoff…"

"What?" Coulson said, thoroughly lost.

"And me…"

Coulson thought about what Clint had said. "Oh."

"I don't want to kill her," Clint said helpfully.

"I got that. Are you asking if you're allowed to start seeing Agent Romanoff in a, shall we say, non-SHIELD way?"

"Yes, yes, that's a good way of putting it," Clint agreed, glad that Phil had caught on to what he was trying to say. Normally, he was not nervous about women. But Natasha wasn't just another woman to woo into his bed. She was his partner in crime, so to speak, and his partner in justice, and his best friend, and, well, he hoped, more than friend.

"Technically? It's not allowed," Coulson said, trying to be gentle. He saw Clint's face fall. "_But_, because you have done the _mature_ thing and come to me first, I will cover for you."

"Really?" Clint said, perking up, his expression full of hope.

"I'm your friend, too, Clint. Of course I will. I can't promise that I'll be able to keep Director Fury from finding out, but I'll do my damnedest."

"Thanks, Phil, thank you so much," Clint said, pumping Phil's hand up and down enthusiastically.

"Just remember, if you hurt her, I will murder you. Slowly," Coulson threatened. He was in charge of Natasha's well-being, too, and he had come to see her as sort of a daughter. Well, what did you expect after being someone's handler for so long?

"Of course, of course," Clint said. "I'll see you later!" He was out the door in a flash.

Phil smiled to himself. He knew he wouldn't have to follow through on his threat. Those two were already like an old married couple. He was actually surprised to find out they weren't already sleeping together. Which reminded him to call Karen. They had gone on more dates, all during the day when Clint and Natasha would be securely, safely occupied for a few hours.

* * *

More weeks went by. Clint and Natasha were closer than ever. You rarely saw one without the other, in fact. Natasha came to Phil about a month after Clint had.

"Phil?" she asked, tapping on his office door and walking right in, not waiting for permission.

"Have a seat. What's up?" he asked.

"I assume Clint told you that we are together now?" Natasha asked.

"Yes, he came and asked permission. Why?"

"I didn't have time, with the Red Room, for romance," Natasha started. She got up and started pacing. Phil sat back and waited for her to make her point. "I was taught seduction, to use my assets to gain information from targets or to get close to them. But with Clint – everything is different." She stopped and faced him, leaning forward on the desk. "I don't know… how to be close."

Well, that certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting. He supposed it made sense, though. Natasha was, well, extremely skilled at using her "assets," as she called them, for her own benefit. She hadn't had a normal childhood or teenage-hood, and so it only made sense she didn't know how to navigate a normal romantic relationship. Well, maybe not _normal_, but –

"Natasha. I'm going to tell you this," Coulson began. "When Clint came to me, he was nervous. I've never seen him nervous. Not even when he was assigned to bring in the mighty Black Widow. Which tells me that he wants to do everything right. For you. All you can do is be yourself, and trust what you and Clint have. I've never seen a bond between two people closer than yours."

"I don't know how."

"You'll figure it out. Nat, this isn't something where I can just give you a file where you can read the information you need to know. This is life and love and real and you have to trust your instincts."

Natasha sat down in the chair again and stared at Phil, mulling over his words. Coulson tried not to let her stare get to him.

"Thank you, Phil. I have to think more about what you have said," Natasha said, standing up.

"Glad I could help," Phil replied. "Go get em."

* * *

Coulson was on another date with Karen. It was going extremely well. They were at a fancy dinner party, complete with black ties and evening gowns and champagne in fluted glasses. Coulson felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. From the look Karen turned on him, she felt it too. She stepped out of his embrace and waited for him to answer it, only a little bit put out by the interruption. She knew how important his job was, she just didn't know what exactly it was that he did.

"Coulson," he hissed into the phone.

"Agent Coulson, you had better get back here before I kill them," Agent Hill said.

"Mine again?" Coulson asked.

"You'd better come quickly," she replied then the line went dead. Coulson shoved his phone back in his pocket angrily. They were so going to run laps. They would run laps until _he _puked.

"Karen," he said, turning to her with an apologetic expression, "I'm so sorry. They need me – "

"In the office. It's okay, Phil. I was getting tired here anyway. Can you drop me off on your way?" she said.

Coulson drove her to her apartment, waited just long enough to see that she got inside okay, then took off for the SHIELD base, where two agents were going to be in v_ery_ big trouble.

"Ah, Coulson, there you are," Director Fury said when Phil ran in the door.

"Sir. I'm so sorry for… what are they doing, exactly?"

"I'll let you see for yourself. They were in the dormitory wing last I checked." Coulson followed the Director through the maze of corridors that was the base HQ. They were walking quickly, so he couldn't be sure, but there appeared to be, at random intervals, great splatters of paint on the walls, floor, and ceiling.

They came to the dormitory wing occupied by the special task force soldiers. There was an unnatural silence, a complete absence of people that was not right.

"Director?" Coulson asked.

"At the far end. I trust you'll handle this, Agent." Director Fury took one last, surveying look around and left, back the way they had come.

Coulson looked down the seemingly empty corridor and started walking, slowly, cautiously. He didn't think it necessary to draw his weapon, exactly, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to be careful. Knowing his agents, this could be anything, although he had a pretty good idea…

"Eat paint!" Clint yelled, then appeared around a doorway a second later, firing from a gun. Coulson ducked, but he needn't have bothered. Hawkeye's prey was the Black Widow, who popped up when he yelled from behind some gear stacked in the hallway thirty feet ahead of Coulson's position. Natasha returned fire and then ducked down again, barely missing a gob of fuchsia paint.

"Barton! Romanoff!" Coulson yelled. He waited for them to respond.

"Nice try, Nat, but I know that's a recording," Hawkeye said loudly.

"Barton, Romanoff, I'm standing right here," Coulson said, rubbing his forehead. He _so_ did not get paid enough for this. "I'm supposed to be on a date with Karen but got called back to control you two. Okay? I'm _here_. Now, I'm going to count to three. Then I want you both to stand up, come forward, and put your weapons on the ground and then hands in the air. Got it?"

"I swear to God, Nat, if you're cheating… okay," Clint said, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"Got it," Natasha said, always to the point.

"Okay. Ready? One… two… three. Weapons on the ground and hands in the air."

His two charges stood up from their concealed positions, hands up, and set the weapons on the ground at Coulson's feet. They didn't take their eyes off each other. They straightened, keeping their hands visible, and stepped away, waiting for Coulson to speak.

Phil bent and picked up the two paint guns. They were both close to being empty.

"Put the extra ammo on the ground. On three," he demanded. He counted again. Slowly, Clint and Natasha each lowered a hand to unfasten their extra ammunition and set those on the ground as well, returning their hands to their up position. Coulson took the ammo, too, then let them lower their hands to their sides, where he could still see them.

"I'd ask what's going on but I think that much is obvious," Coulson said. "Care to explain why?"

"We're on a date," Natasha said, the slightest hint of blush coloring her pale features.

"A date," Coulson repeated. He looked down, tapped his foot, looked back up at his two charges. His expression was somewhere between furious and frustrated with a hint of amusement, but that might have been hysteria. Natasha would have to watch further to be sure which.

"Clint," she growled, glaring daggers at her… partner. If looks could kill, she wouldn't have a partner anymore, Phil thought.

"I was just trying to give Natasha a normal American experience," he explained, his voice rising in desperation. "And it was time to spend, you know, together?" he ended up asking instead of explaining. His eyes pleaded with Coulson to understand.

"You two realize that I was called off of _my_ date with _my_ girlfriend to come in and diffuse a situation – you two _playing _being the situation, right?"

Nods from the two agents.

"And you realize that there is now paint all over SHIELD that needs cleaning up?"

Again, the two nodded simultaneously, heads hanging. Coulson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't _really_ be mad at them. They were young and in love, and had hands down the most stressful jobs on the planet. He wanted to cut them slack. At the same time, there were shooting ranges that would have suited their purposes rather than the hallways of SHIELD…

"What was wrong with the shooting range?" Coulson asked.

"It was boring. No real obstacles, no real-life buzz to the situation. We thought this could double as training – you know, infiltrating an enemy's military base and take out the other – "

"Stop. Just stop," Coulson cut Clint off from trying to explain. "You two are going to clean up all the paint and give apologies to Director Fury. And, you're grounded."

"What? Come on, Phil, we're not teenagers!" Clint argued. "You can't _ground_ us!"

"Watch me," Coulson said. "No missions. Ten days. No exceptions."

"But what if SHIELD needs us for a mission no one else can handle?" Clint said.

"I'll be putting your punishments in my report to Director Fury. I'm sure he'll be most understanding. Now go to bed, both of you. If you behave yourselves I might be persuaded to shorten your grounding."

"This is bullshit," Clint muttered.

"Good night, agents. And maybe next time, Clint, you'll think twice before interrupting one of my dates," Coulson said. Then he left his agents standing in the hall. He returned the equipment to the shooting range lockers they belonged in and went to his own quarters. He only had the energy to sketch a few notes. He'd write the full report in the morning. He really wasn't paid enough…


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you everyone who left a review! I can't tell you how much they made my day. And, as a thank you, I give you: Chapter 2! Keep the reviews coming. They help me a lot. Thanks and enjoy!

* * *

"Agent Coulson!" Phil turned to see a rather portly man in a white chef's hat and stained white apron running toward him. He frowned, not recognizing the man.

"Is there something I can help you with…?" he asked when the man stopped before him.

"Pete, sir," the man said, saluting awkwardly.

"Pete. What can I do for you?" Phil asked.

"Sir. It is my understanding that Agents Barton and Romanoff are yours, sir?"

_Here we go_, Phil thought. "Yes?"

"Well, sir, it's just that, my staff is trying to accommodate them, sir, but it's getting a little bit crowded in the back…" Pete trailed off, the red of his cheeks spreading to his neck in embarrassment.

"The back… you know what, just lead the way, Pete, and I'll take care of it."

"Thank you, sir," Pete said, letting out a sigh of relief. "If you'll follow me, sir…" Pete led Coulson into the cafeteria, then behind the counter into the commercial size kitchen.

The place looked like a war zone. There was flour everywhere, and it looked like a couple of eggs had been thrown, by the size of the splatters on the walls. And, right there in the middle, standing at the island counter, were Clint and Natasha. Clint had on a bright red apron that read _Kiss the Cook_ in curly letters with kisses all over it. Natasha wore an apron in the most appalling shade of orange Phil had ever seen that clashed terrifically with her red hair and had a panda bear wearing a chef hat on it.

"What is going on in here?" Coulson asked, taking in the whole scene. Barton looked up from where he was mixing in a giant bowl with a rubber spatula.

"Hi, Phil!" he said, smiling hugely. "Grab an apron!"

"Clint," Coulson said flatly.

"Now you try, Nat," Clint said, passing over the spatula. "Yeah, Phil?"

"Clint, focus. The kitchen staff… Pete here tells me you're in their way."

"What?" Clint asked, paying more attention now.

"You're interfering with Pete's work!" Coulson shouted. Natasha looked up from her stirring.

"Pete, why didn't you just tell us?" she asked, turning her full attention on the hapless chef.

"I… you looked, you know, absorbed?" he stuttered. It sounded like a question. Pete looked to Coulson for help.

"Agents, please clean up this mess you've made and get out of the kitchen staff's way so they can do their jobs." Coulson crossed his arms over his chest.

"Can we at least bake our cookies first?" Clint asked. Phil sighed, defeated, and let his arms hang by his sides.

"Ask Pete," he said.

"Pete," Natasha said, her voice turning a few shades of husky, her eyes holding his, "can we please stay and finish? We'll clean everything up. We promise," her voice got even rougher at the end.

"Uh," Pete said, staring at Natasha. He gulped audibly. "I suppose it would be okay. We need the kitchen soon, though…"

"They should be done in fifteen minutes," Clint said, realizing his partner's game. "We'll make sure everything is just as clean as the day it was put in."

"…Alright. Just be quick," Pete said, giving in to Natasha's captivatingly persuasive eyes.

"Of course, sir. Apologies for the inconvenience," Clint said grandly, bowing slightly.

"It's too late for me to deal with this. You two had better clean up when you're done," Phil said.

"Good night, Phil!" Clint called cheerfully, waving and grinning goofily.

Phil just stalked out of the kitchen to go to his quarters. It was late, he was tired, and he wasn't paid enough to constantly have to babysit his agents.

* * *

"Phil!" A very angry Natasha Romanoff stormed into Phil's office. Startled, he jumped and dropped his papers all over the place, only just managing not to spill his coffee.

"Yes, Natasha, what can I do for you?" he asked, sipping his coffee before setting it down again, further in from the edge this time.

"Clint is stealing my novels. Tell him to give them back," she demanded.

_You've got to be kidding me_, Phil thought.

"Phil! Don't listen to her!" Clint yelled, skidding into his office at a dead run. Phil was not caught unawares this time, though, and simply glanced at him stolidly.

"Clint. Wonderful. Now I don't have to hunt you down," Phil said, taking another sip of coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need it for this one.

"I am _not_ stealing!" Clint said.

"I didn't say you were," Phil said, frowning.

"He _is_! He is the only other person allowed access to my room!" Natasha spat, taking a slightly threatening step toward her handler. She would never actually lay a finger on Phil. But she was good at using intimidation tactics to get her way.

"Agents!" Phil yelled. They both shut up and faced him. He would have laughed if he wasn't getting such a headache. Their postures were identical, right down to the frowns, the crossed arms, even the legs braced apart. "Natasha. You say your novels are missing." Phil glared her down when it looked like she was going to interrupt him again. "How many, exactly, are we talking here?"

"Four," Natasha said.

"And they are no longer in your quarters, where they are normally kept?"

"No, they are not," she replied emphatically.

"Have you at least looked in your other lockers, checked lost and found boxes…?"

"Yes, I've checked everywhere!"

"Okay. Clint," Phil said, turning to gaze into gray eyes. "Do you know where Natasha's novels might be, since she can't find them?" he asked calmly.

"I have no idea where her novels are. I sure as hell didn't _steal_ them," Clint said, frowning. "I even went with her to the lost and found bins!"

"Alright. I'll help you look," Phil said, getting up.

"Are you sure? Aren't you busy with reports or something?" Clint asked.

"That didn't bother you when you burst in here. I might as well take a short break anyway." Phil took a bottle of aspirin out of his desk drawer and swallowed two with a gulp of coffee. "Lead the way. Perhaps a new set of eyes will catch something you two missed."

Natasha marched – there really was no other word for it – back to her quarters. She keyed open the door to her room and went in ahead of the two men.

Phil stood in the doorway and surveyed the room. It was extremely Spartan. There were a few novels next to the precisely made bed (apparently only some of Natasha's books were missing), a music box on her dresser next to an enormous jewelry box (her accessories for mission outfits), and a record player on her desk, along with a small stack of records. Continuing his inspection, Phil spied a few of what looked like men's t-shirts in the SHIELD-issue laundry hamper, and a bottle of men's cologne amongst the many, many bottles of perfume (again, the small details made her mission outfits come together the way few other agents could pull off). On a hunch, Phil went to the door that connected Natasha's and Clint's rooms and turned the knob. It opened easily and silently.

Clint's room had a much more, well, lived-in look to it. The bed was sloppily made, there were papers and folders scattered haphazardly over the desk (mission files, it looked like, from his cursory glance), and clothes were thrown about everywhere.

"I told you, I didn't take them," Clint said, following Phil into the room. "Uh, sorry 'bout the mess." Clint rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

Rather than answer, Phil looked back into Natasha's room, then back at Clint's. They were mirror layouts of each other. Something caught Phil's eye in Natasha's room – her stack of books on the floor next to her bed.

"You two…" he muttered and marched over to Clint's bed.

"What?" Clint said in a tone that dared anyone to accuse him of stealing just _one more time_ –

"Here they are," Phil said. He bent down, removed what he hoped was _Natasha's _silk nightgown, and stood up holding four worn-looking paperbacks.

"My novels!" Natasha said gleefully, moving forward to take them into her arms. "Phil, you are amazing," she said, along with a few choice endearments in Russian, and kissed him on the cheek. Cradling her novels, she went into her room and slammed and locked the connecting door.

"I didn't _steal_ them! She left them in here by mistake!" Clint said animatedly.

"I'll be in my office. That is not an invitation to come and visit," Phil said, leaving through Clint's door to the hallway. _I should ask Fury for a raise…_

* * *

"Agent Coulson!" Phil turned and saw a harried-looking lower-ranking officer come up and salute him smartly.

"At ease. What can I do for you?" Phil asked.

"You're needed on the bridge, sir."

"The bridge?" Phil said, confused.

"Yes, sir. Immediately," the messenger replied.

"Alright," Phil said, and changed direction to go up to the bridge instead of to the cafeteria to get a coffee refill. His gut told him that this had something to do with two certain agents…

"Director Fury," Coulson said, approaching. The director turned to face him.

"Coulson, there you are. Do you know where your agents are right now, Agent Coulson?"

"I can't say I know _precisely_, sir, but – "

"I'll just tell you, Agent. Your charges are currently terrorizing my new recruits by running through the corridors, trying to take each other out."

"I… I don't know what to say, sir," Phil said, frowning. He knew it was those two…

"I know I don't have to tell you how much we need new agents signing up with SHIELD. We cannot afford to lose a whole group of recruits because two senior agents are roughhousing in the corridors. Now, you make sure I still have a group of recruits, and get your agents under control. Consider this an informal warning."

"Yes, sir, right away," Coulson replied. He ran all the way to the lobby, where he knew the new recruits were always held until Agent Hill appeared to take them on a tour of the base and introduce them to SHIELD life.

There, in the middle of the hall, were his charges. Natasha was sitting on Clint's back, holding his arms, while yelling at him in what may or may not have been Bulgarian.

"What the hell is going on here!" he yelled at them. They both ceased their yelling at each other to stare at him.

"Clint here," Natasha began, jerking on his arms to make him wince, "thought it would be funny to play practical jokes on me. I am simply teaching him otherwise."

"Natasha, let him go," Phil said. Reluctantly she stood up and released Clint's arms, but not before slamming him into the floor one last time and hissing something in his ear.

"Both of you, in my office, now," Phil commanded. They sulked away to wait for him in his office. Phil turned to the stunned group of recruits who were watching the spectacle. "Hello, all. I'm Agent Coulson, and I assure you, this is not normal or representative conduct here at SHIELD. Please, do not let what you just saw influence your decision to stay or leave. And here is Agent Hill, who will explain to you how things work here. Agent," he finished, nodding to Hill and beating a hasty retreat. He had some disciplining to do…

* * *

"Clint! Stop it!" Natasha shrieked, running past the open door of Coulson's office. He glanced up in time to see Clint run after her, holding up a camera and laughing. Before someone had to come and find him, he got up from his desk and took off after his two agents.

"Coulson!" he heard as they ran past Fury's office.

"On it!" he yelled, not bothering to stop and lose his agents. They were in top physical condition. He wasn't exactly out of shape, but he wasn't anywhere near as fit as Clint and Natasha. Phil put on a little more speed.

"Clint!" he shouted. Clint glanced behind him and saw Phil chasing him. Thankfully, he stopped.

"Yes, Phil?" he asked innocently.

"What are you doing?" Phil asked, skidding to a halt so he could catch his breath.

"I need to take a picture of Natasha," Clint replied, as if it was obvious. Well, it sort of was, what with the camera in his hands and all. "She's more camera shy than I thought. But don't worry, she can run but she can't hide!"

"Clint. You can't chase Natasha through the halls," Phil said.

"But how else am I supposed to catch her?" Clint asked, frowning.

"Perhaps if you asked nicely, she would just let you take her picture. Why _are_ you trying to take her picture?"

"So I can carry it with me always," Clint replied. He had the decency to sound sheepish at the cheesy, romantic idea. Phil would have to ask Karen for a picture to carry with him…

"Clint, please allow me," Phil said, holding his hand out for the camera. Clint hesitated but handed it over to Phil.

"What are you gonna do with it?" Clint asked.

"Smile," Phil said and snapped Clint's picture. He sent Clint to the shooting range for practice, promising to get him a picture.

* * *

A few hours later, Phil was sitting in his office writing up the latest mission report and eating microwave macaroni and cheese. He had worked through dinner, give him a break. When the report was finished, he shut off the lights in his office and closed the self-locking door. He'd been holding on to Clint's camera all day and given a lot of thought to his promise. In fact, he had a really good idea forming. He just needed to sleep on it…

A week passed and it was almost time for Clint and Natasha to go on another mission. Clint had returned each day, asking if he had gotten that picture for him. Each time, Phil told him no, just be patient, but it was hard seeing Clint's despairing expression each time Phil answered in the negative.

"Natasha, may I come in?" Phil asked, knocking on her door.

"Enter," she called. She was laying on top of her bedcovers, reading one of those precious novels. "What's up?"

"Actually, I had a favor to ask of you," Phil said.

"Oh?"

"Please don't get angry," Phil began.

"Oh I can't wait to hear this one." Natasha bookmarked her place and closed the book in order to give him her full attention. "Go on."

"You know the other day, when Clint was trying to take your picture?"

"Yes…"

"Did he tell you why?"

"No, I didn't stick around to ask questions," Natasha said, grinning.

"Of course. Well, the reason he wanted your picture was to have it to carry with him on missions," Phil explained. There was silence in the room.

"That could compromise the mission if he's searched," Natasha said finally, all trace of joking gone from her face.

"I know. But sometimes, those we care about are more important than the mission." Phil reached into the secret hidden panel he'd made in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a white square. He gazed at it, smiling, then handed it to Natasha for her to look at.

It was a picture of Karen, dressed in concert black, playing her cello. The look on her face was one of intense joy, concentration, passion, and dedication. It was alluring and made Natasha jealous of the sheer joy on the woman's face. She handed the photo back to Phil.

"Okay," she said.

* * *

"Agent Coulson, where are Agents Barton and Romanoff?" Director Fury asked from his office doorway. Coulson looked up at him from his computer.

"I'm not sure, Director. Do you need them for something?"

"They were supposed to report for the mission briefing," Fury replied.

"Don't worry, sir, I'll find them," Coulson said.

"Have them come to my office when you do," Fury said and left.

Coulson checked their quarters, the cafeteria, and the shooting range, but they weren't there. He headed off to the last place he thought they could possibly be: the gym.

From the hallway, Phil peered in the window in the door of the small, private gym that only Clint and Natasha ever used. To his surprise, they were not boxing, wrestling, stretching, or climbing on the jungle gym or in the rafters, as the case often was. They were standing face to face in the center of the empty floor. Phil sneakily slipped inside the door and crouched behind some gym equipment to do some spying on his spies.

He watched as Clint stepped away for a moment and put a record onto the record player that lived in Natasha's room. The opening bars of a Russian orchestral piece sounded from the player and Clint rejoined Natasha in the center of the floor. They stood there for a moment before Natasha jumped away suddenly, landing perfectly balanced on her tiptoes. She did a few leaps and turns and spins, and then Clint joined her, lifting her up and spinning with her.

Phil brought the camera up and turned it on quietly, waiting for the perfect moment. He watched as they spun and pulled away and came together again, leaping across the floor and landing in perfect balance. It was beautiful and he felt guilty for spying on such an intimate moment. As the final crescendo built, their movements got faster and more intense until the last chord pounded from the record player and Clint dipped Natasha. Phil snapped the camera and, without even checking it, got the hell out of that gym. He snuck around to the locker room and left them a note to report to Fury's office.

* * *

It was the evening of the mission. Fury was required to go to a black tie event in Washington, D.C., as the head authority of SHIELD. All the heads of the various government departments had to go. Even the President of the United States would be there. Clint and Natasha were going as security.

"Come in," Natasha called when Phil knocked on her door.

"Wow, you look stunning," he said, coming in and sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Thanks. You don't look too bad yourself," she replied, finishing putting in her earring. She pawed through her enormous jewelry box, looking for a necklace to complete the ensemble. She clasped on a diamond teardrop necklace and turned around. "Well?"

"Perfect," Phil said. That was really the only thing he _could_ say. She had on a navy blue floor-length halter gown that went perfectly with her red hair and pale skin. The teardrop diamond at her throat sparkled and brought the eye to her face, which had minimal makeup (she didn't need it), and her red hair was curled and half twisted back, away from her face.

"Thank you. Hm. What perfume?" she asked. Phil walked over to her dresser and examined the various bottles she had.

"This one."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." Phil knew it was Clint's favorite. He'd collect on the favor later.

"Well alright," Natasha said, dabbing it on with a very light touch. "Was there something you needed?" she asked.

"Nope. Just came to tell you to be ready to go in five minutes, and that I'll be at the party as well. Karen's playing in the quartet they hired. You'll get to finally meet her."

"Wonderful," Natasha said. "Now, if you don't mind, I need a few minutes of privacy."

"Of course, of course. Five minutes," Phil reminded her and left. Actually, he just went one room over and knocked on Clint's door.

"Hey, Phil," Clint said when he opened the door. "Come on in. Can I offer you a drink?"

"Clint, it's against SHIELD regulation for an operative to have alcohol in their room," Phil said.

"That was the answer to a different question," Clint said, grinning.

"Oh, what the hell. Go ahead and pour me a bit of something," Phil said. Clint went over to his closet, clinked around a bit, then returned to hand Phil a small glass.

"Cheers," Clint said. They tipped their glasses together and drank. "So, is there something I can do for you?"

"Actually, it's something I did for you," Phil said, producing Clint's camera from his pocket. He handed it to Clint, who eagerly took it and went to look through the memory card.

"There aren't any pictures on here," he said, disappointed.

"That's because I made you this," Phil said, handing him a wallet size photo. Clint took it and stared. It was a picture of him and Natasha dancing. In the gym.

"How did you get this?" he asked suspiciously. God, if anyone here knew he danced ballet with Natasha… he'd never live it down. Ever.

"I have my ways. Don't worry, I'm the only one who saw," Phil assured him. Clint was only half listening, though, as he studied the picture more carefully. His back was turned a little, so you could only see his face in profile. But he was dipping Natasha, and she had her head thrown back, full to the camera's lens. The expression on her face was one of pure love and joy and beauty.

"I… I don't know what to say. Thank you," he said, his voice thick.

"Hey, I told you I'd take care of it," Phil said. "There's a little slit in the inside chest pocket of your jacket. Keep it there and it should be safe."

"How do you know there's a secret pocket in my pocket?"

"I'm the one who had it made for you. I have a matching one." Phil patted his chest where he knew the picture of Karen rested, safe and sound. "I too carry a lady with me, you know."

"Thank you, Phil. I mean it," Clint said. "I think we have to man-hug." He swept Phil up into a crushing bear hug.

"You're welcome," Phil wheezed. Clint set him down again.

"Shall we?"

"Right behind you," Phil replied.

"We count on you for everything, you know," Clint said, turning in the doorway.

"I know," Phil replied. "If it wasn't for me, you two would never have gotten up the nerve to get together. And you'd probably be fired by now."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you kind readers for the continued support! As per request, I give you: **

**ps: reviews make me very happy and make me want to write more. **

**happy reading!**

* * *

"Hey, Phil!" Clint said. Phil jumped a mile in his seat, intent as he'd been on his paperwork. But his door was still shut, just as he'd left it. He looked up.

"What the hell are you doing in the vents, Clint?" Phil asked, staring at his agent. Well, his face, because the rest of him was stretched out in the ceiling.

"Oh, you know, just practicing and stuff. I realized where I was and decided to drop in and say hello. What are you up to?" Clint replied.

"You're just 'hanging out' in the ventilation system and decided to 'drop in and say hi'?" Phil repeated, as if unsure he'd heard correctly.

"Yep. Nat's busy with a special seminar, so I had no one to spar with," Clint explained.

"And of course the vent system was the obvious answer to your boredom."

"I thought so. We really should get someone to dust in here, though. It's disgusting. Nothing like the cleanliness you see in the movies." Clint sneezed, as if to make his point more clear.

"I'll let Director Fury know what you think of the vents," Phil said sarcastically. He was starting to get a crick in his neck from looking up at Clint, so he rolled his head a little and returned to studying his papers. "Now, if you didn't have anything you needed to talk about, I have work to do."

"Actually, I was wondering if you had scheduled any seminars for me in the next few days."

"Hm," Phil said. He pulled out his mobile device and brought up his calendar, looking up the information. "You'll be teaching a sniper seminar in four days, but that's all. You're supposed to be recovering from your last mission."

"That mission was easy. I mean, really? Security detail? Psh," Clint said. "Nat and I can do that in our sleep."

"Yes, well, that was an extremely high profile gathering. It made a tempting target for anyone who is anti-United States."

"Uh huh. So when's the next mission?" Clint asked.

"I don't know. When Fury needs you," Phil replied, trying to focus on his work.

"When does Nat's seminar end?"

"In a couple of hours."

"What are you working on?"

"Clint!" Phil said firmly, glaring up at his agent. Clint smiled back serenely.

"Yes, Phil?"

"Please go find something more productive to do. Unless you want to fill these reports – "

"And that's my cue to leave. See you later, Phil," Clint said, disappearing from view. The usual grate was replaced over the hole in the ceiling and then there was just silence.

"Something productive, you hear?" Phil called after a few moments of absolutely nothing happening. All was silent, and like with a little kid, that meant nothing good. But there was no reply. Clint had already moved on to other parts of the building via the vent system. Phil just hoped that he didn't get himself caught. That was just what he needed – to explain to his superiors why a world class agent and famous sniper/assassin was crawling around the air vents. So _not_ a conversation he wanted to have, ever.

* * *

"Clint, you can't go in there!" Natasha hissed at him. Clint glanced behind him at his glaring partner. They were crawling through the air vents to practice stealth movements.

"Why not? It's practice."

"Clint, there are just some places you aren't allowed. The women's locker room is one of those places. That is strictly off limits for all male persons," Natasha replied. "End of discussion."

"But Nat," Clint argued. "What if on a dangerous, life-threatening mission, I have to sneak into a women's locker room to escape a force of lethal body guards. I won't have any idea how to do that if I don't practice now."

"Then you'll just have to find a different way to escape the evil henchmen. You are strictly banned from the locker room."

"But you've seen the inside of the men's locker room!"

"Yeah, because the mark I was seducing was a pig and wanted to do me in a bathroom! Clint, I am not letting you down there."

"Exactly. Now you know what goes on in there and know how to handle it. I, on the other hand, will not be so prepared."

"You know what? You want to go down there so bad? Go ahead. Maybe you should. It'll teach you a valuable lesson," Natasha said, exasperated.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Clint asked, immediately suspicious.

"Climb down there and see. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'm going down," Clint said firmly. Natasha just watched as he carefully slid the grating away from the opening in the vent shaft they were hiding in and slithered down, flipping so he was right side up, having gone out head first. He dangled for a moment before letting go of the edge of the opening and landing in a crouch, listening and looking for threats. Natasha smiled to herself and slid the grating back into place and took the vents back to her room. This was going to be _beyond_ good.

Not two minutes after making it to her room, Clint staggered through her door. His face was pale, his eyes wide, and he looked on the verge of a breakdown.

"Clint sweetie?" Natasha asked, making her voice sugary with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Why didn't you prepare me for… that?" Clint asked. His voice actually trembled a little bit.

"What happened?"

"They… there was so much… I didn't mean to see…" Clint couldn't seem to put a thought into a full sentence just yet. Natasha had a good idea why.

"So now you know what happens in a women's locker room?" she asked.

"Actually, I didn't get past the little locker area I dropped into. I made a break for the door as fast as I could," Clint replied, gaining control of his thoughts and words.

"And what have we learned from this little experience?" Natasha asked, arching a perfect brow.

"That men should never ever go into a women's locker room?"

"And?"

"That I should trust you and take your word for it if you say 'no'," he muttered, giving in.

"That's what I thought. Come sit. You look ready to pass out."

* * *

Natasha couldn't find Clint anywhere. She'd tried his room, the gym, the cafeteria, the shooting range, Phil's office, Fury's office – she'd even gone so far as to _talk to_ other agents to see if they knew where he was. As well as looking stunned that she was talking to them, they were unhelpful in her search for Clint. On a hunch, Natasha found the nearest vent opening and climbed in, carefully resetting the grate behind her.

She moved about the vent shafts with ease now. Clint had made sure she knew the vent system as well as the normal corridors in case of an emergency. And, much as they joked, it _was_ good practice for real life combat and espionage situations.

She slithered and crawled – perfectly silently, thank you very much – through the tunnels to the secret little nest that Clint had made above Fury's office. It was both a refuge for when he needed to disappear for a few hours and a strategic spying position. Clint had learned many things by hanging out above Fury's office. For instance, the latest gossip, general stuff Fury didn't want them to know about, and some personal intel on Fury himself, had all been learned by spending time in his nest.

So that was where Natasha headed. Except, Clint wasn't there. Natasha waited a moment, listening for him, but all she could hear was Fury typing below her, and that wasn't exciting enough to stay for, so she moved on. There were other nests all over the place. She doubted she even knew about all of them.

However, she knew about the one over Phil's office. They sometimes felt a little guilty about spying on their handler and friend, but they got over it quickly. They were spies working for an international spy agency – _the_ spy agency, in fact. Spying was part of who they were and what they did. Sure enough, she came upon Clint laying stretched out in the tunnel on his belly, his chin resting on his folded arms.

"Hey, I was looking for you," she whispered, laying down to face him from across the vent opening that was Phil's office.

"Sorry. Just thinking," Clint replied.

"And spying," Natasha added. "Anything interesting happen?"

"He called Karen and made a date for tomorrow night."

"We'll have to make sure to be on good behavior, then."

"Yup."

Content just to spend time together, they fell silent, listening to the noises of Phil doing the dreaded paperwork they avoided every chance they got. In the silence there was an ominous creak and the vent shaft shifted a little.

"Clint?" Natasha said.

"It was nothing. The vents make noises sometimes," Clint replied, shrugging it off. But a moment later, the shaft they were in gave way completely, crashing down into Phil's office.

"Jesus Christ!" Phil yelled at the commotion and consequent destruction of his office. Then he spotted Clint's customized uniform and Natasha's distinctive red hair and got mad. "What have you DONE?!"

"Well I think it's pretty obvious what happened," Clint replied snappily, getting up slowly and patting dust and building material off of himself. He reached down and pulled Natasha to her feet.

"Yes, but I mean what were you two doing up there?" Phil said, still not over his initial shock.

"Just hanging out," Clint said.

"In the vent system. Over my office," Phil said suspiciously. "I highly doubt that."

"Eh, think what you will," Clint said. "We were just leaving."

"Oh no you don't," Phil said dangerously. Clint and Natasha knew him well enough to know that that tone meant real danger, so they wisely abandoned their attempt to retreat and turned to face their pissed off handler. "You two are going to explain to Fury why he has to get my office repaired."

"Oh, come on, it's not _that_ bad. I actually think this is an improvement on the original décor," Clint mused, gazing around him at the plaster chunks of ceiling and mangled metal of the vent shaft on the floor.

"I don't think so. You aren't getting out of this one. To Fury's office, now. Let's go." Phil popped an aspirin and marched his agents down to the Director's office to explain the damage. Maybe now he would finally get that raise, now that Fury saw just what he had to put up with for his own eyes…


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, here we are, the final chapter. Ah, but the end is bittersweet. This chapter is actually more like an epilogue and set AFTER the movie. Thank you to all of you for reading and reviewing. Please, enjoy (and keep the reviews coming)!**

* * *

"Clint," Natasha said, entering their room at Avengers Tower.

"I know," Clint sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. He had royally screwed up – forgetting his wedding anniversary when married to the most deadly person in the world wasn't wise. "I'm working on it." By 'it' he meant finding a babysitter on short notice for their two year old daughter, Emma.

Not deigning to respond, Natasha simply nodded curtly and left to give Emma her afternoon snack. Clint glanced at his alarm clock. He had about 3 hours to find a babysitter. That shouldn't be a problem, right?

He went through the list of sitters in his head. Tony was right out. There was no way he was leaving his little baby girl with someone so irresponsible. Banner was visiting a university and working on something science-y, Clint hadn't bothered to get the details. Steve was going out of town to see Peggy in her retirement home. Thor was on Asgard.

"Pepper?" he asked carefully, coming into her little office space in the Tower.

"Oh, hey, Clint. What's up?" she asked, pausing in her ridiculously fast typing.

"I, uh, forgot that it was our anniversary – "

"Say no more," Pepper interrupted his sorry explanation. She and Natasha had become extremely good friends since marrying Avengers and living together as the only adult females in the Tower. Pepper understood how important Clint was to Natasha, especially how important it was for them to have alone-together time. Natasha had made huge strides since her Red Room days, no one could deny. And motherhood had, to everyone's astonishment, been very good for her. But she needed Clint to herself sometimes. Their wedding anniversary was most definitely one of those times. Pepper also knew that Clint had forgotten about it and was hastily trying to make up for his lapse in memory. So of course Pepper was going to do everything in her power to get the couple some alone time.

"You'll watch Em for us?" Clint asked.

"Absolutely," Pepper replied. "Have you made dinner reservations yet?"

"Yeah, I already called her favorite little Russian restaurant in the city and reserved a table," Clint said, running a hand through his hair in relief. He knew he'd gotten off fairly easily – this time.

"Good. You know, JARVIS can give you a reminder beforehand. Natasha wouldn't even know. Just set a little reminder to be sent to you personally like a week in advance or something. That's what I did for Tony after the third year in a row that he forgot."

"Heh, I already did that. I just… forgot after JARVIS gave me the reminder," Clint said, having the grace to blush.

"Oh. Well then you're on your own, pal. Good luck," Pepper said, turning back to her computer screen. "I'll come to your suite at six thirty."

"Thanks, Pep."

"You owe me."

* * *

"Nat, can you get the door?" Clint called from the bathroom. They were preparing to go out to the formal party SHIELD put on every year. The only reason they were going was that it was required, not only because they were Avengers, but also because they were SHIELD's best agents ever.

"Hello?" Natasha answered the door. When she saw the fourteen year old girl that babysat for them, she took her hand off the gun in her thigh sheath.

"Wow, Mrs. Barton, you look amazing," Mandy breathed, taking in the whole of Natasha. The assassin's stunning red hair was twisted elegantly up and back but left pieces to frame her face; her dress was black with a somewhat plunging neckline (she'd worn deeper necklines than this before though) and parts of the back cut out, with a slit in the side from the hem on the floor all the way up to her hip; as usual, her jewelry was tastefully minimal, as was her makeup.

"Why thank you, Mandy. Come on in," Natasha said, stepping away from the door. Mandy walked into the apartment and followed Natasha into Emma's room.

"Hello there, cutie pie," Mandy said, going forward to sit on the floor with the toddler. "I think she's even bigger than when I was here a week ago," Mandy said, craning her neck to look up at Natasha, who was smiling down at her daughter.

"She's growing like a little weed," Clint agreed, appearing in the doorway.

"Don't call my daughter a weed," Natasha winced, smacking her husband lightly. "Nobody likes weeds."

"Not even if she was, like, a cute little dandelion flower weed?" Clint pouted.

"Oh, stop," Natasha said, rolling her eyes. "Alright, our numbers are on the fridge, as well as alternate emergency contact numbers, the doctor's number, and–"

"Nat, she knows the drill by now," Clint said. "Hurry up, we're going to be late." He crouched down and Emma toddled over to him. "Good night, sweet pea," he said to the little girl. "Daddy will be back later, okay? You be good for Mandy." He kissed his wife's cheek on his way out to get his tuxedo jacket from the kitchen.

"Right, well, you know where everything is, and as always, you're welcome to whatever food's lying around, just not the coffee," Natasha said. "And we should be back by one. And she's already had dinner, so don't worry about that."

"Sounds good, Mrs. B," Mandy said, trying to reassure the mother and get her out the door on time. Much as Mandy thought they were a gorgeous couple and enjoyed watching them together, they needed to be away so she could do her job. "Have a good time."

"Alright, I can take a hint," Natasha said, conceding defeat. "We'll be back later. Good night little Emma," she addressed her daughter in Russian. The little girl mumbled some Russian back, making Natasha smile.

"Come _on_, Nat, Fury will give us never-ending paperwork if we're late again," Clint said from the foyer of their suite.

* * *

"Hey, Clint, Natasha, we're back," Steve said, knocking loudly on the Barton suite door. A bleary-eyed Clint opened the door a minute later.

"Oh, you're back," he said, taking in Steve and Bruce and his daughter, who was swinging by her arms between the two men delightedly.

"Daddy!" she squealed, letting go on an upswing and, with Steve and Bruce's help, effectively launching herself at his chest.

"Hey, baby girl, how was the zoo?" Clint asked, awake enough, or with just good enough reflexes, that he caught her. Emma started babbling about lions and gorillas in Russian. "Did you guys want to come in?" he asked, remembering his teammates standing in the hallway.

"No, no, that's alright," Banner said, thinking they probably wanted some family together time.

"Thanks for taking her for a couple of hours," Clint said, not able to stifle a yawn.

"Oh, please, Clint, we were happy to take our little niece to the zoo," Steve said, smiling hugely. He absolutely doted on the little girl, who was the perfect balance between Clint and Natasha. She had Natasha' looks, but more of Clint's personality.

"You still look exhausted, man," Bruce piped up with concern. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, just trying to catch up on sleep," Clint said.

"You've been sleeping this whole time?" Bruce asked, surprised that Clint still looked so knackered. They'd been gone for a good three or four hours. Emma wouldn't let them skip looking at a single animal in the zoo, as well as riding the train all the way around the zoo _and_ going to the petting zoo to pet the goats.

"Hm, yeah," Clint agreed with a sleepy smile.

"You know what? We can take her til dinner time," Steve offered, agreeing with Bruce's assessment. Clint looked like shit. He clearly needed more sleep.

"What? No, you guys have done enough already," Clint tried to say, but was interrupted by a yawn halfway through.

"Uh huh. Give her here. Go get some rest," Steve said, taking Emma back from Clint's arms. She was still telling him about her visit to the zoo, moving on to the topic of elephants and in English.

"Thanks. We owe you," Clint mumbled. "Emma, you want to go play with Uncle Steve and Uncle Bruce?"

"Yes!" she squealed. Clint used all his will power not to wince at the high pitch and volume.

"You better be on your best big girl behavior, okay?"

"Promise, Daddy," she said in Russian. Sometimes it was a struggle to keep up with her because she liked to switch between the two languages randomly.

"Okay. Have fun," Clint said, waving to his daughter as Steve carried her out to the kids' floor. He had thought that Tony dedicating an entire _floor_ of the Tower to the Avengers kids (Tony and Pepper's two, Max, who was six, and Lena, who was two, and Emma), but it was times like these he was grateful for the reprieve from noise. He loved his daughter and niece and nephew, but kids were loud. He padded back to his bedroom and slid into bed beside Natasha.

"Where's Em?" she mumbled.

"Steve and Bruce are entertaining her for another couple of hours," Clint replied, snuggling back into the nest of blankets and pillows he'd made.

"Sounds wonderful," Natasha replied, going back to sleep.

"I certainly thought so," Clint agreed, pulling her in to his chest. He drifted off to sleep, dreaming about Tony inventing a working cone of silence.

* * *

"Oh, Nat, we really need to do this more often," Pepper said, relaxing as her masseuse went to work on a particularly tight knot in her muscles.

"I'm glad you introduced me to this wonderful experience," Natasha replied. "I didn't think I would like it, but it feels amazing."

"Why wouldn't someone like a massage?" Pepper asked, horrified by the suggestion.

"I don't like people touching me, especially ones I don't know," Natasha replied offhandedly.

"If it makes you feel any better, Tony's run thorough background checks on everyone at the entire spa." Pepper had to giggle a little at her husband's over-protectiveness.

"How do you think the boys are handling babysitting duty?" The women, exhausted from running Stark Industries, the Avengers team, their families, and SHIELD business, had taken a spa day to get away from the crazy for a little while and pamper themselves. It also gave them a chance to just hang out together, an activity that was fairly restricted by their busy and often conflicting schedules.

"Hm. I think they're fine," Pepper mused. "At least, they better be. Otherwise, they'll be given a long, loud, and unhappy lecture about it."

"Followed by another one by me as well as a thorough butt-kicking," Natasha agreed. She knew Clint was capable, but he'd been under some stress recently from Fury, about what she didn't know (yet), and she was worried about him. But she knew the other Avengers would take care of him.

"Here here," Pepper said, sighing as her muscles were unknotted and untwisted.

"How long did Thor say he was going to be staying, do you know?" Natasha asked.

"Mm, a couple of weeks, I think," Pepper said. "Why?"

"Emma just adores him. I was hoping she would be able to spend time with him," Natasha replied.

"That'll be nice."

They talked about other things, both Avengers related and not, careful not to say anything too revealing, however, because they weren't alone. They went through the spa together and at the end of the day had been rubbed, pampered, and relaxed to a level seldom enjoyed by either of them.

"Tony? Guys?" Pepper called, walking into the main communal floor that everyone spent the most of their together time on.

"Clint?" Natasha added, looking around for her husband.

"Where could they have gone?"

"The kids' floor, I guess." They went down a floor and, sure enough, found their children, husbands, and friends.

"Pepper, thank God you are back," Tony said, hugging Pepper around the middle and burying his face in her shoulder.

"Why, what's wrong?" she asked.

"I need you Pepper. The phone keeps ringing and people expect me to know what's going on. Fix it please?" The phone rang as if to make his point. He gave her puppy dog eyes.

"Honestly, I leave for an afternoon and you can't run things around here?" Pepper teased. She disentangled herself from Tony's arms to answer the phone.

"Hey, Nat," Clint said, coming up behind her and kissing her neck. "How was the spa?"

"Heavenly," Natasha replied, angling her head so he could reach that one spot… "How did you fare here? Everything as we left it?"

"Eh, Tony's about to break down if he has to answer the phone again, Thor is playing with Emma and not understanding a word she says, Steve is playing basketball with Max, and Bruce is trying to video tape Thor and Emma's conversation."

"And what have _you _been up to?" Natasha asked, homing in on what he wasn't saying.

"Um," Clint said, knowing he was about to be caught. "Supervising Emma."

"What happened."

"What makes you think something happened?" Clint said, stalling. She saw right through him.

"Tell me what happened."

"Fine. Emma and Lena may or may not have gotten into your makeup and closet and played dress up princesses."

Natasha sighed. "Is that all?"

"That I know of," Clint said, waiting for the storm.

"Okay."

"You're not mad?"

"It's just makeup and clothes, and it's all on SHIELD's tab. Easily replaceable."

Clint said nothing, beyond thrilled that he'd gotten off so lightly. Pepper hung up the phone and went to join Max and Steve on the basketball court. They stayed a little while longer before Clint and Natasha gathered up Emma to go up to their floor to get ready for a big, group dinner.

"Oh my God," Natasha said upon seeing her and Clint's room.

"Honey…" Clint said, wincing. The mess was worse than he remembered.

"Clint, go get Emma cleaned up for dinner," Natasha said tightly. "We'll talk about your parental supervision skills later."

"God help me," Clint mumbled as he carried Emma into her room to get her ready for dinner. "I think Daddy's going to be sleeping on the couch tonight, baby girl," he sighed.

* * *

"Mom, I _don't need a babysitter_," Emma huffed. She was twelve years old already. She lived in the Avengers Tower. The _Avengers_. Hiring a babysitter was completely unnecessary.

"Emma, we're not going to do this again," Natasha said, rubbing her forehead tiredly. She and her daughter had the babysitter argument every other day, it felt like.

"But Mom – "

"No. We aren't leaving you unsupervised in such a high-target location. We've been over this before," Natasha broke in. She was the Mom. That should have been enough for her word to be law, but her daughter had inherited her stubbornly strong will.

"But Mom, all my friends are allowed to stay home alone when _their_ parents go out for the night!" Emma tried a different tack.

"Your friends' parents aren't internationally feared assassins," Clint said, coming in while finishing tying his bow tie to take his wife's side. They were once again required to attend a formal, black-tie affair for something or other and had to get dressed up.

"Daddy, I know all the rules and I _promise_ to stay on our floor and the common floor. _Please_ can I not have a babysitter tonight?"

"I'm sorry, Emma, but I'm gonna have to side with your mother on this one," Clint said firmly. "It's just too risky. It's for your own safety that someone stay with you while we're gone."

"I don't see how having a civilian here will help me if someone came here to kidnap me," Emma muttered sullenly, crossing her arms.

"Sweetheart, I know you hate it, but we're trying to do what's best for you. But, tell you what. If, in the near future, you prove to us that you are responsible enough to be left alone when we have to go out, then we'll revisit the babysitter issue, alright? For now, Mandy is on her way up here and we expect you to do what she says," Clint said. He hated when it was left to him to referee between his wife and daughter. No one was ever happy after that.

"Fine," Emma huffed just as there was a knock on their door. Natasha opened it to reveal Mandy, Emma's babysitter since she was just a baby.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Barton," Mandy said, walking in. She had spent enough time here to feel at ease, compared to the first time she'd come over. That may have been the interrogation in the lobby and being searched for weapons on her person, though. "Hey, Emma, how's it going?"

"I'll be in my room," Emma said in reply, storming off.

"You know the drill, I guess," Clint said, turning to Mandy. "She'll come around after we leave."

"Oh, it's fine, I'm not worried," Mandy assured him. "You look very nice, Mr. Barton."

"Why thank you, Mandy. I did the tie all by myself and everything," Clint said proudly, posing a little, making Mandy laugh.

"Come on you buffoon, we're going to be late. Again," Natasha said, emerging from the bedroom where she had remembered the perfect bracelet to go with her evening gown. "We should be back between 12 and 1," she said to Mandy.

"That's fine. Enjoy your night," Mandy said, waving good bye and shutting the door behind the assassin couple. They called the elevator and stepped into it, making tiny adjustments to their clothes and weapons holsters.

"I wish Phil was here," Clint said unexpectedly in the silence.

"I miss him, too," Natasha said quietly.

"He would love Em," Clint said wistfully.

"He'd be left babysitting her and complaining about deserving a raise," Natasha said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, but he'd do it and secretly love every second of it."

"We certainly gave him some hell, didn't we?"

"We were his favorite agents; we could do whatever we wanted," Clint said.

"And we took full advantage," Natasha agreed. She shifted over and put her arms around Clint's middle, pulling him tight to her and resting her head on his shoulder. "I do miss him. I wish he could have been here, with us, and met Em."

"Me too, sweetheart," Clint murmured, putting an arm around Natasha's shoulders. "Me, too."


End file.
